Conversations with a Dead man
by whytejigsaw
Summary: My take on how Sherlock beats Moriarty with the help of Molly Hooper. Will be mainly Molly POV with some Sherlock in later chapters. Eventual Sherlock/Molly pairing. She's a little out of character because I believe the events of Reichenbach would have changed her. Spoilers for all s1/s2. Betaed by Thinkswithpen. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

_Just breathe, Molly. You can pull this off. It's crazy but everyone already thinks you're a wreck around Sherlock, so it'll be totally believable that you'd be a mess after his "death"._

Two hours ago, Sherlock had come to see Molly on his own. He said words she had always wanted to hear. He needed her. That was where the fantasy ended. She never expected that he would need her to fake his death and hide him afterwards. As usual, he had already worked out how it would happen and he needed Molly to fix certain aspects of it.

Push a body, which she would supply off the roof, into a convenient laundry truck that his homeless network would arrange.

Provide blood, matched to his type, that he could hide in his coat.

Supply a syringe filled with beta blockers to slow Sherlock's heart rate.

Wait while he jumped out of a much lower window.

Dash outside with a stretcher and carry his body back to the mortuary after she declared him dead.

"Sherlock, there's no way that will work!"

"Of course it'll work, I've planned it out exactly. John will be distracted by my fake Mrs Hudson call. Passers-by will believe I've jumped. The laundry truck will drive off with the other body. It's perfect."

"But what about Jim, I mean, _Moriarty?_ What if he sees me?"

"Let me deal with him. He won't see you because he's only interested in me. That was his mistake: he never saw you."

"Thanks. No need to make me feel important."

"Why would I do that? Haven't I already told you how integral you are to my plan?"

_It had worked, of course. His plans always did. Unexpectedly, Moriarty had killed himself too – well, no doubt Sherlock anticipated it….you don't come back from a shot to the head either. _

I got a bruised and mildly concussed Sherlock back to my flat at the end of a long day, after hiding him in a morgue drawer, while I did an autopsy on the fake Sherlock, lied to John, Greg and a whole lot of other people, and generally pretended that the man I loved, that everyone _knew_ I loved, was dead. I could hear the awed whispers: "Didn't think old Mol had it in her!" "If she'd only shown that kind of strength when he was alive…" "Imagine being able to autopsy her friend?" When it came down to it, it wasn't hard to pretend he was dead, or that I was devastated by it all. I deserved a flipping BAFTA. "And for the best performance in a morgue, the BAFTA goes to Dr Molly Hooper!"

Sherlock, for once, was quite subdued and didn't say much until they were safely inside the flat.

"Right, well, I guess it's lucky I have a spare room…it's not exciting but it'll do fine while you recuperate".

Molly fussed around with clean bedding, while Sherlock just stood there.

After watching her for a bit, he said,

"Thank you, Molly. I couldn't have done this without you. I saw a different side to you today. You're strong and determined in a crisis."

"Well, y-yeah, I guess so."

He smirked. "And the crisis is over."

"Wwwhat? What do you mean?"

"You're stuttering at me again. If I'm going to stay here for a few days, and let's face it, I am, you're going to have to get over these ridiculous feelings you have for me!"

Molly winced and bit her lower lip, and then forced herself to look Sherlock in the eye.

"Don't you call me ridiculous! Do you realise what I did for you today? I put my professional career on the line, faked a death and lied to people I care about! And I didn't do it so that I could be insulted. I asked you once before why you always said such horrible things. I get it now. You have to push everyone away that you care about. You did really well with John today."

Sherlock closed his eyes at the mention of John's name.

_I could feel myself starting to blush but I couldn't stop now; he was right about one thing, I had to get over him._

"Yes. He told me about your last phone call. Do you know, I think you broke his heart? And I see now that I do count because you always try to deflect any emotions and that's what you're doing now. Well done, dead man, I'm the only person who can help you. Well, you can make your own bed."

_I threw the pile of bedding at him and stalked out, gathering my cardigan and what was left of my dignity around me. Toby, little traitor, whisked past me into Sherlock's room. This was going to be a long few days._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

Sherlock set about making up the bed. He liked to pretend he couldn't do these basic domestic chores because other people would do them for him, which was always preferable. Toby, Molly's cat, settled into the chair to watch him. As he bent over, he experienced pain in the fifth, six and seventh ribs on his left side, on which he'd landed heavily, after his 3rd floor, rather than 10th floor jump. He knew if he looked in the mirror, there'd be a lump on the corresponding side of his head. It hadn't needed stitches but already had a large scab forming.

_That was an unexpected reaction from Molly. I suppose today was a strain. Hardly more on her though, than me. I'm dead – she just had to do her job. That morgue drawer was much more comfortable than expected. Excellent for eavesdropping. Must try to attend my funeral – best time to hear what people think. Not that I care. This deception won't last too long. I think I'll have some tea._

"Molly? Will you make some tea?"

"Make it yourself!" came the response from the sitting room.

_Ha. She should have more crises in life – she's far more interesting. Moriarty killing himself was unexpected. I won't need to keep my own deception up for long, once I've confirmed his network is dismantling and everyone is safe._

Molly flicked through tv channels – nothing interested her. How could she focus on anything other than the man in her spare room? Her reaction to his presence was more remarkable.

_I'm not my usual self around him. It's like his faked death has freed me of my awkwardness…_

As Molly thought that, Sherlock called her name.

"What now?"

"I require your assistance." Sherlock's voice came from the bathroom.

"Sherlock…?"

"I need your help washing my hair."

"Why?"

"Really, just because you normally work on dead people, Molly... I obviously shouldn't get this head wound wet until it's properly scabbed over. I've already bathed but you'll have to wash my hair for me."

Molly stood outside the door, reflecting silently on what she was about to put herself through.

_Ohgodohgodohgod Right. Pull yourself together. You can manage this. _

"Are you decent?"

"Of course".

Molly stepped into the bathroom. Sherlock was fully dressed from the waist down in clean clothes – his own clothes but his chest was bare.

_Deep breath._

"Where did you get clean clothes from?"

"I left a bag here once in case of emergency."

"You were never here before!"

"Wasn't I? I must have dropped it in when you weren't home."

_What? When? I can't think about that now…just be all business-like. Pretend you're a hairdresser. His skin is so white – almost translucent. Wouldn't have expected the light muscles – he's not a gym type. Oh! Look at those bruises. Some of his ribs are broken._

"Oooh, Sherlock – those ribs must hurt. I'll get you a chair to sit on while we do this. I'll bandage them for you later."

Sherlock nodded. He was uncomfortable.

Molly came back with a chair and positioned it up against the bath and unhooked the shower hose. Then left the room again.

"Where are you going now?" said Sherlock with a touch of irriation.

"I'm changing my top – otherwise I'll be soaked too."

Sherlock waited impatiently.

Molly returned wearing a vest top like one would wear for exercise. It was quite flattering, showing off her petite frame. Her arms were toned – _when does she find the time to go to a gym? _ Even when he was indifferent, Sherlock couldn't turn off the observation. _Huh. Wouldn't have expected this. Much prettier with clothes that fit her properly. Casual is her best look._

"Alright then, sit down and we'll get on with this".

Molly turned on the water and waited for it to heat up.

"Put your head back."

Sherlock obeyed.

"Are you going anywhere nice on your holidays then?" said Molly.

"What?"

"Ha, ha. You know, that's what hairdressers always say when they're washing your hair. Cos it's weirdly intimate to have a stranger touching your head…ahem, never mind."

Molly very gently moved the hose over his head, dousing most of his hair and avoiding the damaged area deftly. She seemed to hesitate for a moment then turned off the water. Pouring shampoo into her hands, she rubbed them together and tentatively put her fingers into Sherlock's hair.

For the second time in 24 hours, she was living out a Sherlock fantasy. The countless times she'd imagined running her fingers through his glossy curls had not done justice to the real thing. Since it was wet, his hair looked longer. She began to massage into the crown of his head and Sherlock actually closed his eyes. _How did it never occur to me that he would be even sexier with wet hair? _Of course, in the fantasy, she wasn't washing blood out of his hair…

_This is nice_, he thought, _very different to the sort of hair wash one got with a barber, despite her attempt at levity.. _Molly's hands were soft but firm. The configuration of the bathroom meant that she had to lean across his body to wash his hair, so he was confronted with her chest almost in his face. Her breathing was shallow. _I wonder if I could somehow take her pulse…no, there's no point. Her heart rate is elevated. She's probably really enjoying this. Ow! _"Molly! Be careful." Sherlock snapped his eyes open and glared.

"Sorry! I'm not exactly used to washing other people's hair, well, not while they're alive anyway."

_Hey! His pupils are dilated. That's….surprising. I wouldn't have thought he'd be enjoying this at all. _

Molly reached for the hose and rinsed out Sherlock's hair. As she turned off the water, she thought she heard him sigh. She grabbed a towel and gently began to pat the heavier wet out of his hair.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"I think I can do that myself, thanks."

Molly blushed slightly and ceded control immediately.

"Sure. I'll leave you to it. I'll make some dinner."

She was gone in a flash.

Sherlock exhaled loudly and slowly. The sensation of being touched so gently had provoked a near emotional reaction. He sat there for a couple more minutes gingerly trying to dry his hair. He regretted sending her away as the effort of raising his arms with so many damaged ribs was really quite uncomfortable. His emergency bag didn't have any of his usually carefully concealed hair products, so despite his best attempts, his curls were going to be much frizzier than usual. _At least Molly won't mind that._ Interesting food smells were beginning to waft from the kitchen area and his stomach reminded him that it was over 36 hours since he last ate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Updating a second chapter tonight...that's all my weekend writing, betaed by the delightful thinkswithpen. I've started work on the fourth part but it'll be a couple of days before I'm finished.**

**Chapter III**

In the kitchen, Molly was throwing together a curry. Naturally, she hadn't been expecting dinner guests so it was going to be mostly vegetables but it would do. Anything to take her mind off the seriously erotic experience of washing Sherlock's hair. _I'm pretty sure he enjoyed it too. Best not to think about it and not mention it to him. I'll just think about it later when I'm alone. _Molly decided to open a bottle of wine. _I'm still allowed to drink._

She decided they would eat in the main room – no point making a fuss.

"Sherlock: dinner's ready. We'll eat in the sitting room."

Molly carried the two plates in and plonked them down on the coffee table unceremoniously. As she returned to the kitchen to get her glass of wine, Sherlock appeared, fully dressed _(thank god)_ and with mostly dry, slightly larger hair than usual.

"What's wrong with your hair? It looks, eh, different."

Sherlock grimaced. "Nothing. This is the way it always looks. Don't I get a glass of wine?"

Molly looked surprised. "Sure. If you want one – I just presumed you were doing your usual holy than thou alcohol dulls the brain nonsense. Ha! I said that out loud, didn't I? I'll get you a glass."

"Well, since I'm officially dead, I think I can let my standards slip just the once. It has been a long day. And I am being supervised by a doctor. This smells good."

"It's nothing fancy, just a curry. It'll be nice to have two people to cook for for a while – easier to cook for two than one. How long do you think you'll be staying?"

Molly did her best to sound casual with her question.

"I don't know yet. I had not anticipated Moriarty killing himself. Perhaps a week or so. I'll need to monitor the media. I think it would best if you take the week off work."

"Why?"

"Well, obviously I need you to run errands for me, I'll be stuck in the flat all day. I can't have you at work when I might need you to fetch tea or a newspaper."

"I'm not your secretary, you know. I can't just take a week off work – it will look odd." Molly listened to herself, almost as if she were observing the conversation. _She doesn't want to stay in the flat with Sherlock for a whole week. What was this? Familiarity had hardly had time to breed contempt in 2 hours._

"Why would it look odd? I'm dead. You're distraught. You need time to grieve."

"Sherlock. People know we were friends. You don't get a week's bereavement leave for a friend's death. I'll take tomorrow off, that won't look strange, and then I'll go in on Wednesday. I can scope out what people are saying at Barts. Get the lie of the land, as it were."

"Lie of the land! We're not in a tedious American police drama, Molly!"

"Alright, I was just trying to be helpful. And since I'm not going to work tomorrow, due to _my terribly sad _ bereavement, I'm having a second glass of wine. Hmm. Maybe I should bump off someone every week, could skip Mondays at work permanently."

Sherlock held out his glass and rolled his eyes. "I think even Stamford might start to see a pattern then."

"No more for you. You have a concussion. Do you want me to bandage those ribs?"

"No. They're fine."

Molly threw a cushion at Sherlock's chest. He yelped in pain.

"Oh yes, just fine. Men! Admit you're in pain. From what I saw earlier, you've at least 3 broken ribs."

"Very observant, Dr Hooper."

"You are lucky it wasn't more. Jumping 3 storeys like that. You still could have been killed."

"And yet here I am."

"You forgot to say "thanks to you, Molly. You're wonderful."

Sherlock looked over at her and cleared his throat.

Just then, Molly's phone rang.

"Oh crap. It's John. What will I say?" Molly bit her lip. "Maybe I won't answer."

"No, answer it. Put it on speaker too. Just act like you did earlier. Let him do the talking."

She nodded.

"Hello."

"Molly. I…." John's voice trailed off.

"How are you, John? Stupid question, I know – I'm sure you're feeling much the same as I am. I'm terrible. The man we love is dead." Molly's voice caught as she said it and she reached for a tissue from the box on the table. John didn't even trouble to correct her assertion that he loved Sherlock just as much as she did.

Sherlock leaned back and watched Molly perform.

"Yeah. I just can't believe it. I hit my head, you know. Some pillock on a bike bumped me just as Sherlock jumped and I fell. I think I have a concussion."

"Oh John, you should have said earlier. I could have taken a look. Have you been sick? Should I come over?"

Sherlock waved his hands at Molly – _no, don't go over there._

"No, I think I'll be ok. Not much chance of getting any sleep tonight. The flat….it's so full of Sherlock. I look around and it's like I don't even live here. All I see is him. Microscope set up in the kitchen. There's a bowl of fingernails beside it. The skull. His dressing gown. I found a packet of his cigarettes in the pocket. Never thought to look in such an obvious place."

Sherlock snorted derisively.

"What was that? Is someone with you?" said John.

It was Molly's turned to wave at Sherlock.

"What? No, er, cat, that was my cat. Who would be with me?"

"I could come over."

"No, no, I just" – she sighed loudly – "I need to be on my own, John. I'm a mess. I've been crying ever since I came home. Can't get the images out of my head – you know – Sherlock lying there in my morgue." She stopped to blow her nose. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. _I am good!_

"Yeah. Well, try to get some rest and I'll do the same. Call me tomorrow?" he said.

"Sure, night" Molly sniffed out a goodbye and hit end call on the phone.

"SHERLOCK! You idiot! He heard you snort!"

"Yes, but you covered it well. I think you missed your calling. Actual tears." Sherlock held out the box of tissues.

"He sounds awful. I feel dreadful about deceiving him like this. Did you hear him? He's obviously wandering around wearing your dressing gown. And it's not hard to fake tears – his grief is genuine, I'm just channelling." Her eyes filled up with tears again, this time for John. She put her hands up to her face, resting her elbows on her knees, shaking silently as the events of the day started to hit her properly.

Sherlock took a tissue from the box and before he could check himself, he was kneeling in front of Molly. He pulled her hands away and wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Sherlock, what are you going?"

"I would have thought it was obvious." _Why is my voice deep all of a sudden?_

_What is this? He's never touched me before without some sort of ulterior motive. Can't think what there would be now. I've already killed him, sheltered him, fed him…_ All the same, Molly's heart was hammering at proximity to Sherlock. _Sod it._

Molly threw her arms around Sherlock's neck and hugged him. And he let her. After a few seconds, he put his arms around her and his head on her shoulder. Molly leaned against him heavily.

"OWW" Sherlock quickly disengaged. "Ribs – broken!"

"Oh, Sherlock, I'm sorry. Take your shirt off."

"Er, what?" For once, Sherlock was doing the stuttering.

"I'll bandage them up before you go to bed."

"Right. Ok."

Sherlock's fingers began to unbutton his shirt. Molly managed to tear her eyes away from the expanse of skin appearing right in front of her and stood up hurriedly. Running into the bathroom, she closed the door behind and sunk down, leaning her back against the door.

_We just had a moment. A moment! He's not himself. I'm not myself. We're both under awful strain. What a day! Ohmygod, I'm hysterical. Sherlock hugged me. Right, get it together. Bandages._

_Did I really just hug Molly Hooper?_ Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he'd willingly hugged anyone other that Mrs Hudson, and he only tolerated that. _It felt nice. I must be concussed. And of course, the wine. That explains it._

He slipped off his shirt. _Ouch._ The bruises were livid and purple – far more extensive than a couple of hours ago.

Molly returned. Sherlock looked up at her – cheeks flushed – carrying a pile of bandages.

"Oh Sherlock – they're much worse. Let me see."

Dr Hooper took over from embarrassed Molly as she reached the couch and dumped her equipment. "Lift up your arm". She gently touched the bruises and felt along each rib down the left side of his body. He closed his eyes, the proximity of her juxtaposed the actual pain. Sherlock found his mind alarmed as his heart started to beat faster. She shook her head.

"Four. We missed one. This is going to hurt for some time. Lucky for you, I'm a doctor. You can have the good drugs tonight to help you sleep."

"I don't need drugs."

"Doctor's orders. Just for tonight. Now sit still. No, stand up and hold your arms out, that way I can wind the bandage around you more easily." He stood up, towering over her. She wound her way around him. It was an absurd parody of a dance. "Alright, go and get into bed, I'll bring you some water and painkillers. No, just do as you're told." she added as Sherlock began to protest.

Sherlock decided to give up. He was, after all, in a lot of pain and he had a lot to think about. He made his way carefully towards Molly's spare room and slipped out off his trousers, he'd never thought to leave pyjamas here, getting into bed quickly.

Molly came back. "Here, take this. It's morphine, so you're only getting one. I've read your medical file. Don't worry though, I'll save that particular lecture for another night". Sherlock, obedient at last, swallowed the pill and lay back in the single bed, which was made for a more normal sized person.

"Thanks, Molly."

"It's fine." Almost on autopilot, she stroked his shoulder. He reached up and covered her hand with his own, trying to express his thoughts through touch and not entirely failing. Molly leaned down and extracted her hand. She smoothed his hair back and lightly kissed his forehead. "Good night. Call me if you need anything."

He was asleep almost immediately.

Molly pottered around for a bit before bed, tidying up and checking her email. She had a quick look at some newspapers but stopped almost immediately. Far too much gloating tabloid muck about Sherlock. At last, she got into bed herself and gave way to mental turmoil of the day.

_What a difference a day makes. I woke up alone this morning, expecting to do two routine autopsies and instead, I helped Sherlock fake his death, and now he's asleep in my spare room._

It was nothing like the fantasy. In daydreams, one could smooth out the wrinkles of a plot, re-run them until the lines were perfect and then let it wash over oneself. This was real, and it still included more touching than they'd ever done before. It wasn't flawless, he was actually injured, not to mention officially dead. Though he would never admit it, several people were crying over Sherlock tonight. Tomorrow, he probably be back to his usual, acerbic self. _I'll just have to play it by ear._


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews!**

Sherlock awoke to a dull grey spring light coming through the curtains. For an instant, he wondered where he was, and then it all came rushing back. The roof, Moriarty, the call with John, jumping, listening to his friends suffer, letting Molly wash his hair, hugging her after her call with John…ohmygod, the pain. His ribs were in agony today, not helped by sleeping in so small a bed. _I wonder if I could get Molly to swap beds. Is that too much to ask? Probably not, she's so little, a single bed would be fine for her. _Sherlock amused himself for a minute with how she would look if he asked baldly "can I sleep in your bed tonight?" Sitting up, he lamented the lack of his dressing gown. He hauled himself off the bed and put on his shirt and trousers – every centimetre of bending was pain-filled. He could hear Molly moving about the kitchen.

Molly awoke at her normal time for work, but since she'd already told Mike she wouldn't be in, she lazed for a little bit, then suddenly leaped out of bed. She wasn't quite ready for Sherlock to see her in a nightdress with messy hair and sleep in her eyes. She flung herself into the shower, trying not to think of the last occupant, and failing. Several indulgent minutes later, she got out and dressed in jeans and an old t-shirt, leaving her hair to dry naturally. On work days, there was never time for that. There was no point in make-up – the furthest she'd go today would be shops.

_Sounds like Sherlock's still asleep. I'll just leave him there – he's going to be in serious pain when he wakes up. _

Molly wandered into the kitchen, put on some coffee and ate a bowl of Weetabix. Since there was time, she put on toast too.

Turning around, she jumped. Sherlock had silently appeared in the kitchen, and was already opening the correct cupboard for mugs, even though he'd never been in her flat before. _Apart from the time he apparently left a bag of clothes I never noticed here! _He was wearing the same clothes from last night but she'd never seen him unshaven before and, predictably, it was damn sexy.

"Morning. How are you feeling today?"

"The pain is quite distracting and getting dressed was distinctly uncomfortable."

"I could have helped you."

"Please. I'm hardly at the point of needing assistance with dressing." said Sherlock a touch sharper than necessary.

"Alright, no need to be so touchy. Do you want some cereal?"

"No, coffee's fine. You know how I take it."

"Yes, I do. And since you're in pain, I'll do it for you. But I am not your lackey, Sherlock." Molly felt a little aggrieved – she was well put out with this whole exercise and here he was ordering her around as usual. Changing the subject, she said; "What are your plans for the day?"

"I'll monitor the news channels and read the papers. Would you mind going to the shop and getting them, please?" _Time for some manners. _Even Sherlock could tell that Molly was a bit pissed off with him.

"Fine. I need to buy some groceries anyway. I'm going to call around to Baker St too and check on John."

"Molly, that's a bad idea. It would be easy to accidentally give the game away…"

"It'll be weird if I don't. Besides, I'm really worried about him. He's a mess. And while we're on the topic, I don't understand why we're continuing the deception since Moriarty is dead."

"Yes, well, he had a substantial network, someone may well step in to fill the void, and I can't be entirely sure of John's, Mrs Hudson's and Lestrade's safety until I see that it's disintegrating. The hit men may well have been given a contingency plan if I reappeared."

Molly snorted. "Oh come on, you think Moriarty would have had a back up plan in case you faked your own death? That's ridiculously convoluted."

"I did. And if I were in his place, I would have. We, he and I, are more alike than you realise."

"Whatever. I'm still going around to see John."

"Fine. You can pick up my dressing gown, some nicotine patches, my skull and my violin while you're there."

"Are you mad? You think I could sneak all that out? A violin? I might as well just casually tell John that you've shacked up with me and want your stuff while I'm at it. You're dead, remember? I think that bump on your head did some permanent damage."

"Hmm. You may have a point. Not about the permanent damage. Your own ability to be sneaky is limited." Sherlock's voice was tight. _What is the matter with us both today? We're very snippy. It's all a bit reminiscent of conversations with John. She'll be complaining about my housekeeping next._

"Limited! Dammit, Sherlock. I'm putting up with a lot and I don't need to be insulted too." Molly slammed down her cup, not caring that coffee splashed over the side, and left the room. Gathering her coat and handbag, she left the flat before she could say another word.

_The bloody cheek of him! After all I've done. Not sneaky! I cannot believe how hard he is to cope with. John is a flippin' saint for living with him so long..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the lovely reviews everyone! This chapter picks up the pace a little.**

Sherlock finished his coffee, and Molly's toast, and made his way to the sitting room. He flopped down on the couch and was soon comfortably shouting at an old Murder She Wrote episode. For a while, he allowed himself to forget all about the argument with Molly. It didn't last long though. He ran through his files on her. She clearly felt put upon. Their argument barely even deserved the title…it was all quite…domestic. _I thought she would enjoy having me here. I thought I would enjoy being here too. Wait – where did that come from? _An image of her bending over him last night and kissing his forehead raced through the Molly suite of his mind palace. Sherlock wasn't one for daydreams but he found himself imagining what it would be like kiss her. Half his brain was disgusted at such sentimental nonsense. He needed a distraction. Rubbing his chin reminded him it could be shaving at least.

In the bathroom, Sherlock looked at all of his hostess's cosmetic products. Luckily, his own foresight meant he had the right shaving gear, as Molly didn't seem to be a woman who shaved her legs. He recalled her in that ridiculous dress from Christmas and remembered that she waxed. It was easy to tell the difference – the skin was less irritated. Once his grooming was done, he went back to the kitchen and tidied up. _John always likes it when I clean the kitchen, logically, Molly will too. _For once, he failed to notice all the comparisons he made between the two. _Now, what else? John didn't appreciate it when I reorganised his wardrobe based on items he wore most frequently. _He somehow thought women would like that even less. Curiosity got the better of him though and he found himself in Molly's bedroom.

_The bed's unmade, she got up in hurry. Why though? She wasn't going to work. A pile of clothes on the chair – no, they're there all the time, dust never lies. The room has a messy order to it. She likes it this way. Photos on her bedside locker…predictable: one with parents, one in her cap and gown – obviously uni graduation. Pile of books: boring; chicklit, Jane Austen, medical based whodunits. _

Moving to her wardrobe, Sherlock paused before disregarding the fleeting guilt of being nosey and opening the doors. It was one of those with drawers down one side and a rail on the other.

_Mostly jeans and jumpers – very few skirts or dresses, lots of exercise garments – a large array of shoes. Drawers held underclothes – much more expensive types than I would have imagined – wait, I never imagine her underwear. Don't have to now…_

Two hours later, Sherlock was dozing on the couch when he heard the key in the door.

Molly had gone first to Baker St and seen John. He was a state. She didn't stay long. In Tesco, she did food shopping and then found herself standing in front of hair products. She might not be a fashionista but it hadn't taken her long to realise that hair gel was what was missing from his hair. _And to think he accused Jim of being gay on the basis of hair products! I wonder what Sherlock uses. _After smelling them all, she had it figured out and threw the tub into her basket. _Peace offering._

She arrived back at noon. Turning the key in the door, Toby greeted her by winding his way through her legs. Molly tripped over him and tumbled to the floor, her bag of groceries landing mostly unaffected beside her.

"Bloody cat!"

"Molly, are you ok?" Sherlock came out of the sitting room and stood over her.

"I'll live, mostly just pride damaged. Help me up?"

Sherlock held out his hand and as Molly took it, he grimaced in pain.

"Oh god, my ribs."

Getting herself up, she picked up the bag.

"Yes, I have some painkillers for you. And a present. I didn't bother to wrap it this time."

Sherlock opened the bag. Hair gel.

"How did you know what sort to get?"

"I deduced. You're not the only detective, you know."

Sherlock actually smiled.

"Thank you. Molly – I'm sorry about this morning. I know it's hard to put up with someone, with me, when you normally live alone."

"I'm glad you noticed."

"I always notice – I just don't bother to comment usually. I also made us some lunch."

"You know how to make more than hot drinks? I'm surprised. Wait til John & Mrs Hudson find out. Your death will have a silver lining after all. What did you make?"

"Sandwiches. My culinary skills are limited. They should be edible though."

"Hey, you tidied the kitchen too." Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

"What do you mean? Nothing?"

"Rubbish, you're trying to butter me up for something."

Sherlock chose not to respond directly. He suggested eating in front of the tv again – the indentations on the couch suggested Molly ate 50% of all meals there. Still suspicious, she let it drop for now, not wanting to reignite the morning's spat. They sat side by side and ate in companionable silence. E4 was showing one of those epic Friends marathons. It was season 1, so along with mad 90s fashion, it was truly funny. Molly was surprised to see Sherlock enjoy something so trivial.

Finally, Sherlock couldn't bear it any more.

"Alright, tell me, how is he? Tell me everything."

"He's bad, Sherlock. We have to find a way to tell him. It's not worth this mental turmoil. He's your best friend but he's acting like his soul has been torn in two."

"I do feel badly about it but it's for his own protection. It won't be forever. Before long, I'll be back at Baker St where I belong and everything will be fine. He'll forgive the deception. I'm just glad Moriarty never realised there was a fourth person on that list."

Molly arched an eyebrow querying who.

"You."

"Sherlock…" Molly looked surprised, her voice softened and she put her hand on his forearm. _He has no right having skin that soft! _"It's not quite the same."

"No, it's not. John's John. You are my…." Sherlock struggled to put his emotions into words.

"Your what?"

"My saviour. I couldn't have done this without you. You saved me so I could save them. Not just because you had the pathology skills to assist…"

_Oh. Wow. This is the moment. It's now or never. _

Molly leaned over and cut him off with a kiss. She instinctively closed her eyes but Sherlock did not. He watched her – a unique angle of observation. She looked sublimely happy. _Her lips are soft and pliable. She'd let me do anything right now. _After a few more seconds, he pulled away. Her eyes flipped open. For once, there was silence from her. No stuttering. No explanation. She looked him straight in the eye.

"Well?"

"It was quite soft but not as wet as I've found other kisses in the past."

Molly grinned. "Done a lot of kissing, have you? I realise, of course, that that's as close to a compliment as I'm going to get from you."

"You're wrong."

"Oh really?"

"This is." He tilted his head and kissed her. She emitted a small squeak. It was ridiculously cute. Molly kept her eyes open this time and found that Sherlock had actually closed his. Emboldened or just plain relieved she wasn't on her arse on the floor having been thrown aside, she parted her lips and flicked her tongue across his lips. He started and opened his eyes, but they stayed joined at the mouth. Slowly, Molly reached up and held the back of his head, careful to avoid the bump. Dragging his head toward her, she darted her tongue into his mouth and relaxed into the kiss. Sherlock breathed heavily into her. His mind was flying – the data stream was nearly overloaded with sensations, not just the kiss but the crick he was developing in his neck from being at such an odd angle. He imagined this was the unspoken complaint of nearly all kissing where there was a substantial height differential. Finally, Molly broke off the kiss – neither of them was particularly comfortable half turned to face each other on the couch. She sat back on her side and breathed out slowly, then examined the man beside her. His eyes surfed her body, pupils a little dilated.

"I think that's enough cataloguing for now."

"Is that some sort of slang?"

"No. I know you, Sherlock Holmes. You're not used to kissing, and you need time to process that."

"What? Are you saying I need more practice?" he protested but then, with rare empathy, had the good sense to smile ruefully. She was right after all.

"I'll be back in a minute." She dropped a kiss on his forehead, then went into her bedroom and carefully closed the door. Elated, she did a silent happy dance.

_Did that really just happen? Did I just snog Sherlock? He kissed me back! I can't believe it. What's going to happen now? Wait a minute, who made my bed? _


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

Sherlock sat on the couch, a blank look on his face hid a huge unfamiliar pile of emotion. It was the first time he'd kissed anyone while sober since he was at university. There'd been plenty of encounters while high in his 20s but this was different.

_Clean_

_Intentional_

_Molly_

_Molly! Molly Hooper. My pathologist. John is going to have a field day when he hears this story. In fact, his advice would be welcome – although not necessarily worth the onslaught of teasing that would accompany it, even if I could talk to him. What to do now? Is she expecting me to follow her into her room? _

Molly heard the door to Sherlock's room close. She lay on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't the only one who needed time to sort out his feelings. She had intended to go back out to him but she found she needed longer to gather herself.

_Right. Well. He needs time alone to think. That's ok. He doesn't do this sort of thing regularly – that much was clear from the kissing. Not inexperienced, no, but out of practice. Who am I kidding? Not exactly in practice myself but at least, I do have the upper hand. Has Sherlock ever even had sex? Oh stop that! You've no idea where this is going. Do not start thinking about having sex with him. _

An hour passed. Molly failed utterly in her intention to not think about having sex with him. Both parties stayed in their respective rooms. Sherlock paced up and down until his ribs started to ache and then he lay down. Finally, Molly came out of her room and stared at the door to his.

"Are you just going to stand out there or would you like to come in?"

Molly opened the door. Sherlock was lying on the bed. Toby was on his chest, purring as Sherlock absentmindedly stroked behind his ears.

"Your cat is proving a useful violin substitute" he said.

"Huh?"

"I usually play my violin while I'm thinking."

"Oh, right. Sherlock, are you ok with….em, what just happened?"

"You can use the words. We kissed. Normally I don't like physical affection. This wasn't normal."

Toby jumped down and left the room. It was like he couldn't bear the tension.

Molly found herself standing by the bed. Careful to avoid his ribs, she sat beside him.

"Sherlock, I want more than one kiss. I want a lot more. And I don't know how you feel about any of this. And I don't want you to think that I'm taking advantage of you. But I can't help it. You're lying there looking so cool and collected and I'm a bundle of nerves. Say something!"

He didn't speak but picking up her hand, he laid it on his chest over his heart, which was racing.

"I'd hardly call myself calm. You are more articulate than usual too. I'd say this is unfamiliar country for both of us."

Since he didn't seem to mind, Molly left her hand splayed out on his chest. Sherlock tentatively lifted his arm out from between them and put it around her waist, settling his hand on the small of her back. It was all quite cosy. Neither of them said anything for a minute and then, taking a deep breathe, he spoke.

"I'm in an unusual state of mind. I'm confused. I'd never looked at you as anything other than a competent pathologist until a few days ago, when you noticed that I wasn't ok. I'd always thought of you as someone I could rely on and you've proven more than adequate in that regard since my "death". But spending this time with you here in your flat has caused me to have" – he grimaced as if it were painful to admit – **"**other feelings about you. I think I may have hit my head harder than we thought. Do you think you could manage a head CT?"

Molly smiled at this oh so typical Sherlock speech.

"Sherlock. Are you really that pig-headed? Are you really trying to pretend that a head injury might be the cause of some entirely human feelings? I'm not even going to pretend to be offended because I know deep down you are terrified." She reached up and stroked his cheek.

"It doesn't make any sense, Molly. I've always considered emotion a weakness and wished I could switch it off. Don't you see how it's led to faking my own death to protect the others? None of them is more than a friend."

"Oh you mean you and John aren't in a committed homosexual relationship then?" Molly teased.

Sherlock looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't be above playing it if the situation merited it, but John tends to have a fit if a newspaper even alludes to it. What I'm trying to say, most inarticulately for me, is that if we are _something more than friends_, I couldn't necessarily protect you."

"Now who's avoiding saying the words? What are we? Do you want there to be more – do you want me?"

Sherlock looked at her – her warm, trusting eyes, that gorgeous long hair – he wanted to take it down and run his fingers through it – her neat little figure – the expectant yet calm look. _She expects to be let down. She doesn't think I can handle it. _

He whispered "I do want you. I need you."

Molly's eyes filled up with tears. She took her hand away from Sherlock and covered her mouth as she listened. This was not the answer she expected. Sherlock looked confused and sat up.

"What's wrong? Isn't that what you wanted to hear? Why are you crying?" Sherlock didn't know what to do with a crying woman, proving that he was after all just a man.

"Sherlock, you idiot. There can be happy tears, you know!" Molly flung her arms around his neck.

"Oh." he said softly, as Molly's tears tricked down his neck. _I'm going to need a lot of research on this topic. _

"So what now?"Sherlock was on very shaky ground.

"We can start with some more cataloguing and go from there." Molly pressed her lips to his neck and worked her way down to his pulse, which sped up accordingly. He put his hands on her back and after a minute, tentatively moved them up and down. Molly obliging shivered in response. A good shiver. _This is excellent, perhaps I can get her to give audible feedback all the time. _

"Sherlock. There is one thing. We're going to have to take this slowly." She detached herself from his neck.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've several broken ribs. You're not going to be able to – you know – have sex for a while." Molly blushed at having to bring this up so soon.

"I assure you, there's nothing wrong with…oh..you mean because it's too physical."

"Of course! I didn't mean to imply that you wouldn't be able to…oh no, em, I just don't want to hurt you." Molly looked mortified.

Sherlock lay back on the bed. This was a new one on him. _What's it called? Oh yes, sexual frustration. First time for everything._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

**This is a longer chapter. Let's put John back in the mix and some old-fashioned anticipation. The rest of the chapters will be up fairly quickly, my lovely beta is working on them now. There's 3 more to come.**

The day passed comfortably. They got Chinese takeaway, sat on the couch and watched television. They argued about the merits of ways to conduct autopsies. Molly won that one. They argued about telling John. Sherlock won that one. There was a lot more kissing. He was an eager pupil, though most of his brain was embarrassed to admit it even privately. His long dormant libido strutted around the mind palace crowing, _I like this_, and then promptly shut up in a proper teenage huff as Molly kissed him a final goodnight and they went to separate bedrooms. Sherlock actually found himself considering sorting out his frustration, and then promptly got over it.

The next morning, Molly was due to return to work, so she was up and dressed early. Sherlock joined her for coffee and found her giddy.

"Good morning, sweetheart." she tried out the pet name.

"No. No pet names. Can't bear it."

_Still the same man then._

"Ok. Well, I must get off to work." She bent for a kiss but he evaded it and stared.

"Wait, you're happy."

"Oh well-observed, Mr Detective!"

Sherlock made an irritated gesture.

"No, you miss my point, as usual. I'm supposed to be dead. You can't waltz into the morgue, flushed with happiness. Even ordinary people will notice. You're bound to talk to someone like Lestrade or John. What will they think?"

"They certainly won't think "Sherlock's finally seen sense and done the right thing by Molly", you twit! But you're right, I'll be suitably morose by the time I get to work." She tried again for a kiss and was rewarded by a serious effort. Sherlock pulled her down, put his hand into her hair and let go. Kissing was an unexpected head rush.

"What am I going to do all day here by myself?"

Molly stood up and ruffled his hair.

"Not my problem, darling."

"No pet names!"

An hour later, Molly arrived at work. There was a single post-mortem to do and she got straight to it. As she worked, she couldn't help thinking of her house guest – it was way too soon to be calling him a boyfriend. He might well get cold feet and shut her out again. Despite that, she sang while she worked. She wasn't a great singer but her patient didn't seem to mind! The door swung open and John Watson backed his way in carrying a large cardboard box.

"John! What are you doing here?"

He still looked terrible: his face was drawn, bags under his eyes, he clearly hadn't slept much.

"Were you just singing?"

"Er, well, yes, I often do when I work…" Molly could feel her cheeks go red.

"I actually thought you would be still off work" he said.

"Yes, needed to take my mind off him. Couldn't do that at home." Molly thought _that's even true! _ "Ahem, what's in the box?"

"It's a pile of lab equipment Sherlock nicked from here. I don't need it at the flat so…" his voice trailed off. Molly felt guilty all over again.

"That's kind of you to return it. You're not already sorting through his stuff, are you?"

"Oh, not really, Mycroft came and packed up a lot of things, but this was all in the kitchen, and I felt like cleaning. There were rats in the freezer, Molly. What do you think he was doing with them?" John's voice caught and he leaned heavily against the lab bench as he started to cry. Horrified, Molly hurried over to him and put her arms around him.

"John, it's going to be ok. I know it doesn't seem like it now but it will. His name will be cleared."

"How? There's no one left to do it. Moriarty was so fucking clever – why did this have to be the one Sherlock couldn't solve?" John didn't disguise the anger in his voice.

"Come on, we'll go get some tea. Have you talked to your sister?"

"Yes, she wants me to go stay with her for a few days."

"I think that's an excellent idea. We all need family at times like this."

Unaware**,** as always**,** of the pain he was causing, Sherlock looked at the list he had typed. It was headed "Questions for Molly". He thought a systematic approach was best. He read it over once more, mentally editorialising them.

How many boyfriends have you had? _Three, plus 4 other lovers._

Do you prefer the right or left side of the bed? _The dip in the middle indicates she normally sleeps in the centre._

Do you expect me to:

go out on dates _would crime solving count?_

meet your family _please say no_

buy you presents _I might enjoy that_

Detail all your erogenous zones. _This would just save time._

What sexual positions do you prefer? _?_

They had known each other for over 2 years now, so she would understand that when he was on a case, she just would not see him. He hoped it wasn't going to affect their working relationship. _If anything, it should be improved now that she doesn't stutter or get embarrassed as much around me._

After he printed the list out for her, Sherlock surfed the internet, checking in with several sites to see what news there was of himself and Moriarty. Logging into one of his many email addresses, he left a draft message for one of his trusted homeless network asking them to monitor the various assassins, who so far, it seemed, had stood down their activities.

Molly packed up for the day. She was physically and mentally exhausted. The effort and strain of dealing with poor John was almost more than she could handle. Twice she'd nearly told him everything. Picking up a pizza on the way, she headed for home. When she arrived home, Sherlock was coming out of his room. She dropped her bag and put the pizza on the hall table.

"Oh I'm so glad to be home." She quickly crossed the distance between them and put her arms around him, holding him gently, and put her head on his shoulder. Sherlock put his arms around her waist.

"So you saw John then."

"How do you know?"

Sherlock just looked at her.

"You've been crying and tried to fix your make-up but didn't actually bring any with you to work, so you made do with water, which wasn't very effective. You've also been biting your lower lip, which you do when you lie. You smell of his aftershave, so clearly you were hugging him for some time. Shall I go on?"

"You are amazing." Molly reached up and kissed him softly on the mouth. Surprised by how much he'd been waiting for this, Sherlock bent down to her and moaned slightly. He pushed her coat off her shoulders, and pulled her towards the couch. Molly couldn't help smiling at the fervent look on his face. _Literally, never, never in a million years would I have expected him to make that face at me._

He lay down on the couch, his legs hanging off the end.

"Lie on top of me." he ordered.

"Sherlock, no, I'll hurt you, and I've brought pizza. You might never eat but I like to several times a day." He looked all hurt. Molly knelt beside the couch and cupped his cheek in her hand. Intending to kiss him quickly once more, she soon realised his arms had trapped her in position.

"Let's eat, and afterwards, you can tell me how your resurrection plan is going."

Pizza was eaten.

"By the way, I didn't realise all the lab equipment in Baker St belonged to St Barts! How long have you been nicking stuff?"

"Hmm? Since before you came to work there, but almost all of it is since you did. You were easy to distract." Sherlock smiled at the memory of how one compliment netted him a microscope. _Best to keep that one to myself…_ "I'll have to start all over again once I come back to life."

"And I'll be on the alert now. One tiny compliment won't work so well. You'll have to level up."

"Dr Hooper! Are you implying that I will have to deal in sexual favours to get laboratory equipment?"

Molly grinned. "Oh yes. That's exactly what I mean!"

He laughed and promptly whimpered in pain.

"How are your ribs today? Take off your shirt and let me see."

Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off painfully.

"Can you lie on the floor? You'll be more comfy." He acquiesced. Molly placed a cushion underneath his head. Her fingers began to softly test the area around the broken ribs. Sherlock winced in pain. The bruising was purple still but no worse.

"Well, it's only been two days. They're no worse, which is great. You were very lucky to get away with no internal injuries from these ribs. You do still need to be careful."

He tilted his head to look up at her.

"They really hurt. Can't you do anything to make me feel better?" His hand stroked up and down her thigh, as she knelt beside him.

_Is he actually suggesting what I think he's suggesting? _

Molly wanted nothing more than to give it to him and for second time that day, she found extreme willpower was required. This time she'd give in a little first. Lying down beside him on his good side, she rested one leg on top of his and leaned her head in her hand, so she was looking down over him.

"Hi. This is a weird angle. You're always looking down on me, physically, I mean, though come to think of it, often metaphorically too. That wasn't nice you know. They say we're always cruel to the ones we care about. You're lucky that I forgave you every time. You didn't deserve it." She surprised even herself with this speech. She'd opened her mouth to say something sweet. Sherlock looked kind of shocked.

"I am sorry. Do you know you're one of the few people I actually apologise to? I don't care what most people think but you are different. You count. I'd make it up to you right now if I wasn't in so much pain. You've awakened something in me that I've been ignoring a long time. Sex is funny. When you're not having it, you think "oh it's fine" and once there's even the vaguest chance of it, it's all you can think of. I've been stuck in this flat all day and it's all I can think of. Are you absolutely sure…"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Molly cut him off with a passionate kiss. She curled her whole body into him and he responded in kind. Half dragging her on top of him, she could feel that he really wasn't lying about wanting her.

"You know, it doesn't seem fair. I keep having to take my clothes off in front of you, and you stay covered up." He smiled almost wickedly.

Still a bit out of breath, Molly sat up, straddling his hips. Sherlock groaned at the pressure. She took off her jumper, a faintly ridiculous woollen affair with a ski pattern around the neck. Underneath she wore a pink camisole which hugged her skin. She pulled this off too, leaving only a quite ordinary bra, also pink. Sherlock tried to sit up and fell back in a spasm of pain.

"I told you so." She shook her head at him. Reluctantly, she got up off him. "I'll get you some strong painkillers. Maybe you need to lie down."

"I already am. The pain's not that bad."

"Liar! Look, we'll just have to wait. There's no rush. A bit of anticipation never killed anyone. Besides, there's nothing stopping you relieving yourself." He responded with a grunt of frustration.

Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled "that's what I'm going to do."

Somehow, that didn't make Sherlock feel any better.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII **

**This chapter goes slightly AU – funerals are often quite delayed in the UK – they can take place at least 10 days after death, so I'm changing the timeline here and pretending that the scene with John at the grave never happened.**

They settled into a routine over the next few days. Molly would work and shop for groceries; Sherlock would sit and grumble in the flat. His injuries slowly began to heal. Molly was glad she had always been the sort of woman who preferred staying home than going out – no one suspected she was harbouring an officially dead disgraced detective.

The following Saturday, they were both at home, enjoying a lazy morning. While checking his email, Sherlock let out a cry of triumph. "Excellent. Just brilliant. I've been waiting for a move like this."

"What are you talking about?" Molly looked up from a medical journal.

"There's been no sign of the 3 remaining assassins for several days now. I think it is time to set phase II in motion."

"Phase II? What happens then? It sounds like some Mission Impossible plot!"

"It's time to reveal my status to Mycroft."

"How will you do that?"

"I sent him a text online. I expect we'll be getting a visit shortly."

"Sherlock! I'm not even dressed properly and the place is a mess! You could have given me more warning." Molly did not look pleased. She stood up and started gathering papers from the coffee table.

"What's this?"

_Oh bad time to find the questions!_

Sherlock hurried over. "Ah, I'll take those. You go and shower."

True to form, Mycroft appeared at Molly's flat scarcely an hour later. She buzzed him in, and waited at the front door.

Mycroft always seemed to glide, rather than walk. He was impeccably dressed in a suit and carrying an umbrella, even though he'd come by car and it wasn't raining.

"Dr Hooper."

"Mr Holmes, come in."

Mycroft waited until the door was closed before shouting his brother's name. On hearing a response from the kitchen, he barged past Molly and straight in there. She stood in the hallway, a little dazed. The cocoon of their nascent relationship had been shattered by the arrival of the real world in the form of Mycroft. _Things won't be the same from now on, _she thought, both sad and excited at the prospect of having to share Sherlock with the world again.

Sherlock was making tea, and setting out Molly's best china cups, with saucers and all the works.

"Ah, Mycroft, hello."

The two brothers stared at each other and a silent struggle ensued. After a torturous few seconds, Mycroft completely broke from character and hugged Sherlock, who seemed rather surprised, but also a little bit pleased.

"Well, I guess I can drop the plans for your funeral. What is the schedule for your return? I'll need some time to work things out. Your death certificate hasn't been issued yet thankfully. British bureaucracy had its advantages."

As usual, they had bypassed the formalities in their heads and gone straight into organisation. Molly wondered whether they communicated with telepathy.

"Ahem." she said. "I'll make the tea, shall I?"

"Bring biscuits," said Sherlock as he and Mycroft went into the sitting room.

"This is unexpected," said Mycroft.

"Faking my death? I thought you would have worked it out."

"No, Dr Hooper and you. I told you once before that caring was not an advantage."

"You need not remind me: it will be fine. And you seem unable to follow your own advice, judging by that uncharacteristic fraternal display just now," retorted Sherlock.

"Still, it would be remiss of me not to warn you against taking things further with her. You'll only hurt her."

Molly came into the room just as Mycroft began speaking, carrying a tray of tea.

"I think Sherlock and I are old enough to make our own mistakes, thank you very much," she said curtly, sitting down on the couch beside Sherlock and taking his hand.

"I see my words will have no effect in your current state of limerence," said Mycroft. "Let's move on to discuss how the plan will, as they say, go down."

The conversation, which did not really include Molly, quickly devolved into a curious sibling language and subtext. Within an hour, the full details had been devised. On Monday, a week since Sherlock's fall, Mycroft would contact Kitty Riley on the pretext of wishing to "tell his side of the story". Such an odious and ambitious reporter would snap at the opportunity to keep her scoop running. Once they met, Mycroft would tell her that she had been duped from the beginning, and using his "British government credentials" and a couple of favours from MI6 operatives in the Republic of Ireland, prove to her that Richard Brook had never existed, that Jim Moriarty had, and then he would reveal that Sherlock Holmes was still alive. After that, Sherlock would consent to one short interview prior to going back to work. Before she had time to raise a question, Mycroft had politely taken his leave, but not before urging Sherlock to tell "the others" before Monday.

"Well that went well" said Sherlock.

Molly looked less certain.

"What will happen to us, once the truth is out?"

"What do you mean? I'll go back to Baker St and resume my work. You'll be able to write that article for the British Journal of Pathology on how to fake deaths – I noticed you'd made notes."

Molly came over and sat sideways on Sherlock's lap.

"No, what will happen to _us_?" she said meaningfully, looking into his icy blue eyes.

His arms snaked around her waist.

"Will you be able to handle a public relationship? Will John?"

"Molly, we'll hardly be in Hello magazine." Sherlock scoffed.

"I realise we'll never be an entirely normal couple but I will expect you to acknowledge me, the occasional PDA perhaps…"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"I don't think I can commit….to public affection, Molly. It's too much."

"We can work on it. What about privately?"

"That's entirely different." His left hand left her waist and slowly travelled upwards, coming to a stop on her breast. Molly inhaled sharply.

Almost in a whisper, he said "I'm quite out of practice, you know."

"Oh thank God!" _The universe does love me!_

"Again, your reaction surprises me. Hang on. You didn't think I was a virgin, did you?" _As if!_

"Well, I wasn't sure. You were so unaffectionate – in general - and I never even heard rumours – apart from the John ones…and I was sure John wasn't gay."

He shushed her with a long kiss. Laying her back on the couch, he leaned over her, running his hands all over her, still wincing in pain but determined to put up with it for a while at least. All too soon, the world would intrude but for now, it was all about Molly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX The science of seduction**

Some time later, Molly managed to pull herself together. The lack of intimacy was starting to become urgent. He probably needed another week before they could risk it. That was if he survived the rather large confession he now needed to make to his nearest and dearest.

"How shall we do it, honey?"

"Really, you're persisting with the pet names? I think you should invite the 3 of them here tomorrow. You can make up some maudlin excuse that I would want you all to remain friends… Once they all arrive, I'll put in an appearance. Make the calls now, let's get it over with."

"Let's start with the easiest and work up to John," said Molly, picking up her phone and scrolling to DI Lestrade.

Lestrade answered after two rings.

"Dr Hooper – Molly – hi. How are you?"

"Hi Greg. I'm ok. How are you?"

"Oh you know – the same. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you would come over tomorrow afternoon. I wanted to talk to you and a couple of others about Sherlock – get some things off my chest."

Sherlock came to stand behind Molly and put his hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes, very glad that video phone calls were not standard yet.

"Er, yeah, I guess so. What time?"

"3pm. Oh and Greg, if you're talking to John, please don't say anything. I want to ask him myself."

"Ok, no problem. See you tomorrow."

He rang off. Molly leaned back against Sherlock forcing him to put his arms around her waist.

"Stay there while I do the other calls."

Mrs Hudson answered her landline in an old fashioned way.

"Hello, 7659 3328."

"Mrs Hudson, it's Molly – Molly Hooper."

"Oh hello dearie. How are you?"

"I've been better, Mrs Hudson. What about you?"

"I'm muddling along. John's terrible though. I'm very worried about him."

"Yes, me too, I saw him earlier in the week at work. Did he go to stay with Harriet?"

"No, he stayed here and moped around the flat. I'm having to cook him meals and watch him eat them."

"Oh dear. This might be more difficult than I thought then. I was hoping to get you and John to come over to my place tomorrow afternoon at 3pm. Detective Lestrade is coming too. I thought it might be good for the four of us to chat."

"Oh I don't know if he'll come, but I certainly will."

"Leave John to me. You just be ready to collect him."

"Ok, duckie, see you tomorrow."

Molly put the phone in her pocket and turned to face Sherlock.

"What are you doing? You still have to call John," he said, frowning.

"I know but I need to work up to it. Let's eat first."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, I'm not interested in your strange non-human eating habits. I'm making a cheese toastie for myself. Do you want one or not?"

"Yes. You're very kind to me."

"I know, you don't deserve it." She moved away into the kitchen. Sherlock followed her.

"Molly. I was thinking. We might try sleeping in same bed tonight. If I sleep to your right, we should be ok."

"Are you sure? What if I kick you in my sleep?"

"It doesn't seem likely that you'd kick at the angle to reach my ribs on the opposite of the bed."

"That's true. Ok, let's do it." Molly smiled almost shyly at him.

Revived by the sandwiches, Molly was ready for her call to John.

"Sherlock, get out – I can't do it in front of you."

"Don't be ridiculous. Put him on loud speaker."

"Nope, out. The last time was a close call and it'll be hard enough as it is."

Sherlock went outside to eavesdrop, as Molly took a deep breath and dialled John's number. He did not answer. It took four attempts before he picked up.

"Molly. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? You didn't answer. I was about to call Mrs Hudson to check you were still alive."

"I'm fine…my phone was in another room. That's all."

"That's a relief... I was wondering if you'd like to come over tomorrow afternoon?"

"For what? I don't really feel up to it, Molly."

"I want to talk about Sherlock. Lestrade and Mrs Hudson are coming too."

"What about him? He's dead, there's nothing more to discuss."

"John, don't talk like that. There's lots to discuss – like how we're going to clear his name and so on. Please."

John sighed loudly. "Alright, what time?"

"3pm. Mrs Hudson will be up to check you're ready to go beforehand."

"I'm not a baby, you know."

"I know – I shouldn't be telling you this, but she's worried. Let her look after you. I'm sure she'll be back to pretending not to be your housekeeper before long."

"Fine. See you tomorrow."

He hung up abruptly. Sherlock came straight back into the room.

"Well done. I can't wait to see their faces when they realise I'm here. Do you think I should be just sitting in a chair when they arrive or will I wait to make a grander appearance?" Sherlock looked excited.

"Sherlock. You shouldn't be so gleeful about this. This will be a huge shock for them all. Two of them think they saw your dead body! I think we should have stiff drinks, a lot of tea and maybe even some anti-anxiety medication on hand."

"You forgot shock blankets," he added dryly.

"You're very funny. I've got to make a list and then go to the shops. I think I should cook something to feed us all afterwards."

By the late evening, Molly felt she was as prepared as she could be for sleeping in the same bed with Sherlock Holmes. She'd changed the sheets and found the least offensive of her nightclothes, teeth brushed, etc. Mycroft had sent over a box of Sherlock's clothes and stuff, including his mobile phone, while she'd been out at the shops, which had lead to her almost fainting in the supermarket when she got the following text:

You don't have any contraceptives in this flat. Buy some.

SH

_Where did he get his phone from? Condoms were not on the shopping list. Ohmygodohmygod. Must not think about it now._

That text was shortly followed by:

And penguins.

SH

Her reply:

Will do. Though it's still too soon and you know it. xx

She dithered over whether or not to put in the kisses. _Sod it, he'll just have to take me as I am. _And then promptly got all red at the double meaning of her thought.

She had just put on her pyjamas when Sherlock knocked on the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes." Her voice came out oddly high-pitched.

He was already dressed for bed, depriving her of the joy of watching – _oh well, plenty of time for that in the future._

"This is all a bit strange. It's a long time since I slept in a bed with someone," she said.

"Me too. But then I don't really sleep much," he agreed. "I'll probably just stay with you while you fall asleep and then get up again to read."

"That's no fun." Molly pouted most uncharacteristically, as she threw back the duvet and got in the left side of the bed.

"You normally read before bed, don't you?" said Sherlock.

"This is hardly a normal night…are you just going to stand there or get in?"

He approached the other side of the bed and pulled back the covers. He seemed unsure of himself – Molly was thrilled. _He's nervous. I mustn't tease him. _As soon as he settled down, she scooted over and pulled his arm around her, settling her head on his shoulder. Both of them lay there, silently pondering the hugeness of the moment. After a while, she tugged his head towards her and kissed him. She put her fingers into his hair – the fantasy moments made real came thick and fast – while he traced his hand down her shoulder. The sensation of his hand on her bare skin was almost unbearably good. Molly found herself moaning. Internally, she was mortified but she could hardly stop herself. She started to unbutton his pyjama top and sat up to help him off with it.

"You could have just left it off."

"The bruising is extensive."

"My god, Sherlock, is that actual vanity? I have seen the bruises already, you remember?"

Molly was, for once, totally in charge of this situation, so without modesty she took her own top off. Sherlock stared. Her breasts were small but firm, and quite perky for her age. She seemed to have lost all her self-consciousness as she leaned back down over him to kiss everywhere she could reach that wasn't bruised. Her lips were hot against his skin and he lay back to let her way. Finally, he couldn't stick it anymore: it was his turn for action. He raised her face up to look at him and said,

"Let me have a go."

She lay back obediently and he rolled over to lean on his good side, while admitting that he really wouldn't be able to stay like for too long. Best to make the most of it. His fingers traced every centimetre of her neck, chest and stomach. She giggled as he hit a ticklish spot, which he mentally noted for later use. When his fingers had done all they could, he bent over and began to use his mouth. Molly yelped at the first touch. His lips felt rough against the softest part of her but she didn't care. By the time he took one nipple in his mouth, she was so aroused, she thought she might come from this alone. Their future looked very bright. Gasping for breath, she ran her fingers through his hair and drew his head upwards.

"Sherlock. I want you so much. You have to go sleep in the other room."

A rarely seen confused look crossed his face. "What? Oh, forget the injuries, let's just do it. I can't bear waiting any longer either. You can just be gentle with me."

Molly felt a rush of excitement and desire as she nodded. "I left the condoms in the bathroom…I'll go get them."

"Why do people always leave them in there. It strikes me that they are far more commonly used in bedrooms…" Sherlock wondered while he struggled to take off the rest of his clothes.

Coming back into the room, Molly wasted no time in doing the same and diving back under the covers.

"Are you hiding from me?"

"No. Maybe." she admitted.

"Can't allow it. We're all adults here." He pulled back the covers and they both spent a time just looking at each other. Sherlock's more analytical mind processed the shape of her hips meeting the tops of her toned legs, how her whole body seemed flushed to match her face. Molly pondered the whiteness of his skin – _he must never get any vitamin d – _along with a healthy dose of _ohshitI'mnakedwithSherlockHolmes! _Finally, they started to touch each other again.

"You'll have to be on top, Molly."

She laughed a little hysterically. "Ha. Sentences I never thought I'd hear you say!" He reached out to grab a condom, which she'd left on the nightstand.

"No. Let me do it. Bending over is already difficult enough for you." She bent over and took hold of him. _Ohmygod. How mundane of me to be calling out a deity's name at a time like this. _Her task accomplished, she straddled his hips and looked up at him, through her eyelashes. _Do women learn how to look like that or is it genetic? Must do research. _"Are you right?" she asked quietly. He nodded, the power of speech momentarily lost to him.

Molly slid down around him and they both gasped at the sensation. She set a gentle pace but soon increased it as she moved in rhythm with him. She desperately wanted to lean down over him so more of their skin could touch but the all too extensive bruising was a reminder that, even now, she didn't want to hurt him. Between his injuries and their mutual excitement, heightened by days of close proximity, it was all over deliciously quickly. They came at almost the same time. She cried out his name and collapsed down on to him, no longer caring if it hurt him. He put his arms around her.

"That wasn't like I imagined it would be." Molly heard his voice in stereo lying on his chest.

"Not good?" she looked adorably uncertain for a moment until he clarified: "Better. But I am quite tired from it all."

"You're just unfit," she teased, rolling off him. "Maybe you'll sleep now!"

**A/N: Ok, I've written sex scenes before but never published them. I have a few stashed away on my computer from when I used to write SG1 fiction. I didn't want to make it too explicit because I felt it didn't go with the tone of this story. Please be kind!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter X A new status quo**

The next morning, Molly awoke in the arms of the man she loved. It was too good to be true. Despite the week's events, she hadn't believed until now that it was all really happening. Today would see it all change – he'd move back in with John – it was too soon for them to live together, and of course, everyone would know they were a couple – everyone that counted, that is.

Sherlock had been awake for some time. He'd watched Molly while she slept with a smile on her face. She dreamt about him, if the occasional muttering of his name was anything to go by. Relaxed by sleep, she seemed more beautiful than ever – her hair loose around her face, no frowns or nerves to bother her. The tiny amount of wrinkles in her face were smoothed by sleep and she looked younger than her 30 years. She was beginning to stir and he gently brushed some hair from her forehead. His mind tripped from one topic to another. _Is this what falling in love is like? My observational skills don't seem stunted by it. Sharing a bed was easier than I imagined but then she is quite little. I'll be glad to have my own bed back in a few days: I'm stiff all over. Of course, that's not all due to the bed._

Even he had to admit he was feeling daunted by what was to come. When he'd made the plan to fake his death, it actually hadn't gone as far as returning to the world. Moriarty's unplanned suicide had changed it anyway.

"Good morning."

"Morning, are you ready for your resurrection?" Molly was one of those irritating people who woke up bright and breezy.

"Of course – raring to go," he said.

Molly leaned up on one arm so she could see him properly.

"Rubbish. You're terrified of how John will react. He might hit you. Do you know what you'll say?"

"I'll just be myself."

"Oh cos that works so well for you normally?"

"It worked on you."

"Yes, it did."

He sat up.

"I'm quite bashed up this morning."

"I told you it was too soon." Molly's tone was bemused.

"It was worth it though," he said walking gingerly towards the bathroom.

At 2:30pm, Sherlock and Molly were dressed and waiting their guests. He was back in one of his usual suits, with a red shirt underneath. Molly had spent a long time trying to decide what to wear, until finally Sherlock told her to put on whatever she felt most comfortable in and get on with it. She dressed in a loose flowing purple top and jeans. She looked at him nervously.

"Are you nervous? I'm nervous and I don't have as much to do. What will I say to them when they arrive? What if they don't want to stay?"

Sherlock pulled her close and said "Relax. They're not likely to arrive all together."

For once, the great detective was wrong. At 2.57pm, the door buzzed: it was all of them.

"Oh hide, hide now. Before they get here." Molly suddenly went into a total flap. Sherlock dropped a kiss on her forehead.

"It'll be fine. Just make chit chat. I'll come in when it seems like a good moment."

He disappeared off to the bedroom, taking his phone with him – the only evidence of his presence.

Molly ushered John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade in, and fussed over taking coats.

"I must say, Molly, you're looking remarkably well," said Greg in a surprised voice.

"Oh, am I? I, eh, had my hair cut yesterday, trying to give myself a little perk-up" she said.

Lestrade nodded and made his way to the couch. John just stood there, hands in pockets looking at the ground. He had only half his shirt tucked in to his trousers.

Trying to make conversation, Mrs Hudson said brightly "this is a nice place, Molly. Have you had it long? Seems quite big for one. You must give me a tour."

"Oh yes: later. Who's for tea?" Molly didn't want anyone meandering around right now.

Everyone nodded their interest. She went into the kitchen and busied herself with making tea. Returning a few minutes later, she found all three sitting down, not really talking much. She put the tray down on the table, realising a little too late that she'd put out five cups and cursing herself. _Perhaps they won't notice. They all seem pretty distracted._

"So how is everyone?" she asked brightly.

3 blank faces looked back at her. _Oh crap! What a thing to ask?_

Listening from the hallway, Sherlock winced. He was going to have to get in there soon. It was all sounding very awkward. Perhaps it would have been better to do this at Baker St.

Molly tried again. "Well, thanks for coming today. I know it seemed a bit weird but I just thought we're all in the same position and we could help each other out."

John said "it is weird. I keep expecting him to rush in with some ridiculous request. You've put 5 cups out, Molly, did you notice?"

"Oh no!" She paused, shook herself and sighed. "Nope, can't do it. Get out here," she added in a louder voice.

The three blank faces suddenly were intrigued. Mrs Hudson, whose back was to the hallway said "Molly, are you quite alright? What? What is it?" She just seen Lestrade and John's face go white. "You look like you've seen a ghost." She turned around, saw Sherlock, and promptly fainted. Molly rushed over to her.

"Well, if that's not thunder-stealing, I don't know what is!" said Sherlock.

"Bloody hell! I saw you dead!" said Lestrade, shaking his head.

"Good trick, wasn't it?" grinned Sherlock, before looked anxiously at John, who had said nothing.

"You fucking bastard! You've put us all through hell! And you", he turned around and stabbed a finger in Molly's direction. "You were in on it! I just can't believe it. You complete arse. You've betrayed all our trust and do you know what? His voice had gone up at least two octaves, tears sparkling in his eyes. "I don't care at all." He closed the distance between himself and Sherlock and threw his arms around him.

The hug seemed to break the tension in the room. Mrs Hudson came around and scolded Sherlock soundly for his "bad behaviour – upsetting everybody like that." Molly found herself being hugged in turn by everyone and finally by Sherlock. The others bombarded them with questions. How had they done it? Who else knew? What about the whole Rich Brook/Moriarty situation? Did Mycroft know?

Sherlock succinctly explained it all, with interruptions from Molly. They sat beside each other on the couch. It was Greg who noticed.

"Course, mate, that's not the only news, is it?" he enquired.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock, his dominant position in this little group reasserted, glared at Lestrade.

"Something happened between you and Molly here."

John looked from one to the other and then back to Sherlock.

"Oh My God. You're bloody well, right. Well, this is perhaps more interesting than the faked-death! Wait til your fans hear about this, Sherlock. Let's hear the full story – and leave nothing out this time."

Mrs Hudson continued to look astonished. It was like Christmas and her birthday all at once. Sherlock was back from the dead and finally had a girlfriend! Sherlock and Molly looked at each other but it was she that spoke.

"You all knew of my interest but he didn't notice he was reciprocating it until a few days ago."

"It was a gradual thing," he admitted. "And that is the whole story. Let's move on to a new topic."

"No way, mate, you've put us through a lot this week, the least you can do is divulge a little gossip. Your fans will want to know and I am prepared to get to the bottom of the story." John wasn't giving up easily.

"Perhaps you should wait til you get him home, John. Once you're settled back into Baker St, he'll probably relax more."

"I will not! My personal life is not up for discussion."

"Yes, dear," said Molly. She winked at John and mouthed "call me later". She started to tidy up the tea things, and found a typed sheet of paper underneath the tray. It was headed "Questions for Molly".

"What's this?" She looked at Sherlock who looked completely horrified.

"Oh nothing. I'll look after it." He whipped it out of her hands and it disappeared inside his jacket pocket. A quick diversion was required. Pulling her down onto his knee, Sherlock kissed Molly. The others cheered.

Just then, Sherlock got a text. It was from Mycroft and after pressing his lips together for a minute, he looked up.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

He cleared his throat and read aloud:

"S. Slight problem. Need to delay your return for another week. Tell no one. Will call later to explain M."

There was a general chorus of "bugger" "damn" and groans of irritation. Only Molly seemed pleased.

The End.

**End note: So that's it. Hope everyone enjoyed reading it. I loved writing it – it did rather consume me. Special thanks to Thinkswithpen for all her great advice and proofreading.**


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